


Kill of the Night

by castielsass



Series: Spideypool Kink Prompts [6]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Lace Panties, M/M, Mild Gore, tw for explosion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 23:55:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielsass/pseuds/castielsass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a multiple fill fic written for the kink prompts 'lace, dresses and shower sex'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kill of the Night

The feel of lace over calloused, scarred, torn skin was upsettingly soft. Peter clenched his fist, dragged his knuckles over knitted flesh, delicate fabric stretched tight.

Deadpool had been caught in an explosion. Someone rigged thermite to the handle of his apartment, so that when he turned it, it imploded and burned so bright it had temporarily blinded him. Peter had heard about the explosion and arrived at Wade’s apartment to see scattered limbs, lumps of flesh and a horrifying amount of blood spread over the doorway and hall. He took a moment to vomit outside the door, before literally rolling up his sleeves and piecing Deadpool back together. There was something that felt cold about picking up a half-melted thigh and searching until he found a matching foot, lodged in the ceiling fan. Peter lay the pieces of Deadpool on his bed, carefully placing each part tight against flesh that still leaked blood. He began like a puzzle, starting with the outside of Deadpool, his feet, hands, legs. He found Deadpool’s head under the couch, incongruously funny if it had been anything else. His eyes were closed, and Peter was both upset and relieved by that. The wonder of if Wade would be able to heal from this, would wake up stirred his stomach with nausea. But relief also steadied his hands, at least he wouldn’t open his eyes to see Peter placing his fingers back carefully by the knuckles of his torn hand. Peter put him back together, slotting ragged flesh to torn skin, and slipping damp, cool organs back inside his blown open chest. Peter paused, with Wade’s lumpy heart in one hand, a rib in the other and then shook himself, forcing himself to slide Wade’s heart back inside his gaping chest, slotting his rib carefully over it. When Wade was pieced back together, Peter let himself throw up again, making it to Wade’s disgusting bathroom just in time. He returned to the bedroom, foot slipping on a pool of congealed blood. Wade’s eyes were still closed, and panic swelled in Peter’s throat like tears. He ransacked Wade’s apartment for clean bandages, sheets, linen, anything he could use to wrap around the broken pieces of him, that would maybe help him heal back together. Almost everything in Deadpool’s apartment was unusable, filthy or blood-stained, except for a packet of bandages and a drawer filled with clean underwear. Peter pulled them all into his arms, and darted back beside Wade, dumped the fabric beside his head. He washed his hands, and then tore the pack of bandages open, carefully wrapped them around Wade’s shoulder where his arm was beginning to reattach. Hope fluttered low in his stomach and Peter forced it back down, moving to his waist and covering the meaty flesh of his open chest with bandages. Blood seeped through the fabric, and Peter dug into the pile of underwear. Most of it was women’s underclothes, but Peter found he couldn’t quite care. He didn’t know if it was Wade’s own collection, or belonging to an ex, or whatever other senseless reason Wade would have kept it for. He tugged seams free, and wrapped the clean fabric around Wade’s thigh where the bone hadn’t knitted back together yet. The white lace briefs looked ridiculous and strange next to the open flesh of Wade’s thigh, but Peter was beyond caring. He forced Wade back together with lace, ribbon, satin. He couldn’t do much more, couldn’t kickstart Wade’s healing factor himself, so instead he sat down beside him on the bed, letting his hand rest on the only clear patch of healed flesh on Wade’s ribcage, hoping somehow that his presence might lessen the pain of flesh knitting back together.

 

Wade’s eyes opened, but not before he started screaming. Peter laid his hands on Wade wherever the flesh had already healed, hushing him. Apologies spilled from Peter’s mouth like rain, as he pressed his hands to cold flesh, warming it. Wade’s eyes rolled and landed on Peter, and his mouth closed.

“Petey?”

“Hey,” Peter croaked. His hands fluttered helplessly over Wade’s chest.

“What happened? Are you crying? My panties!” Wade moaned, seeing his pile of desecrated underwear.

“No, I’m not! You got hurt, someone planted a bomb by your door. And sorry, I had to use some of this to help keep you together while you healed,” Peter said, as he slipped his fingers carefully underneath the bandages over Wade’s chest. He lifted them, peering at healed skin.

“Wow,” he breathed, pulling the swath of fabric free and tossing it on the floor. Wade’s chest was covered in new skin, scars cutting across where his flesh had knitted back together. Wade stretched, cracking his knuckles. Peter’s hands moved insistently over Wade’s skin, checking everywhere and ensuring Wade was healed. Wade yawned, his jaw popped back into place and he pulled Peter down on top of him, blowing air into his face.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, arching his back and stretching tight muscles.

“Nothing,” Peter said, but he buried his face in the crook of Wade’s neck where he smelled metallic, like blood and sweat. Wade patted him on the back, awkwardness in the motion betraying his inexperience with being touched. Peter sniffled.

“Jesus,” Wade said automatically, tilting his head when wet tears dripped down his neck. “You are crying, what the fuck?”

“I thought you were dead,” Peter sobbed, arm coming up to wrap around Wade’s neck. “I thought I couldn’t fix you and it’d be my fault because I wasn’t here when it happened.”

“Fuck,” Wade said again, recoiling a little and flapping his hands. “Jesus.”

Peter only followed him, curling up on top of his like a cat.

“Uh, calm down. I heal, remember, I wasn’t gonna be gone for long,” Wade reminded him, hands clenching and unclenching over Peter’s shoulders. Peter only cried on, getting snot and tears and drool on Wade’s shoulder when he turned his face into his skin. Wade tensed up.

“Spideybabe, calm down. You need to calm down and I need to pee and eat about seventeen burritos, ok?”

“Ok. You go to the bathroom and I’ll go call for takeout,” Peter said even though he was still sniffing. He brought his fist up to his face to scrub his eyes clear.

 

Wade comes out of the bathroom, freshly showered and neat in a red dress with layers of fluffy tulle at the hem and matching lace underwear he’d pulled out of the pile that Peter hadn’t ruined. He finds Peter in the living room surrounded by a pile of Mexican food that he probably put himself in debt ordering.

“You paid out of the money in the box, right?” Wade asked, jerking his chin toward the cupboard where a biscuit tin lay stuffed with cash. Peter shrugged.

“No, I paid. It’s fine, come eat,” he said, pushing a brown bag smelling of spice towards him. Wade hesitated, confusion curling his fingers.

“But the money in the box is for stuff like that,” he said.

“It doesn’t matter, I can pay every once in a while, I’m not that poor,” Peter snapped and Wade scratched his fingers over the back of his bald head. Peter would probably survive on ramen for the next month, but he still paid. Wade shook his head. Freak.

He joined Peter on the couch, fluffing out his skirt before he looked down.

“Did you clean my apartment?”

Peter shrugged, filling a plate with ladles of fries and tacos. He handed it to Wade.

“It was dirty. Didn’t have much else to do while you were healing.”

“You didn’t have to stay,” Wade pointed out and Peter just looked at him, like he’d said something stupid. Peter switched the tv on, and curled back beside Wade, his own burrito balanced on a plate on his knee. His head dropped onto Wade’s shoulder and Wade lifted a hand to push him off before he remembered who it was and instead fluttered his hand uselessly before letting it tangle in Peter’s hair.

“You know who did it yet?” Peter asked, before he took a bite of burrito.

“Nah, probably some guy who wasn’t happy with a job I did,” Wade shrugged. Peter looked down at his plate and put it on the side, not hungry anymore.

“You think they’re gonna try hurt you again?”

“Probably not,” Wade replied. He fixed his dress where it had rumpled around his knees. Peter reached forward and twined the tulle through his fingers. Wade put his food back on the table and lifted his arm with a cheesy fake yawn to wrap around Peter’s shoulders. Peter snuffled out a small laugh, lifting the hem of Wade’s dress to his thighs.

“I like your dress,” Peter said. “Are you wearing stockings?”

“Of course. I’m a classy broad.”

“Of course,” Peter agreed, letting his hand slide up Wade’s thigh, stuttering over scars to feel the soft stretch of hosiery attached to a garter belt that covered lace underwear. Wade wrapped his fingers in Peter’s hair, pulling his head back against the couch. He tossed his leg over Peter’s hips, tugging on his hair and laying open mouth against the sharp curve of Peter’s throat.

“I thought you were a classy broad,” Peter gasped. He tugged on the straps keeping Wade’s stockings up, unclipping one of them. His stocking slid down to his knee, catching on rough skin and laddering. Peter slid his hands up to grasp strong thighs.

“I need to take a shower,” Peter said.

“Oh,” Wade replied, pulling back. “Right.”

“It’s not like that,” Peter insisted. “I washed my hands but they still smell of your blood.”

“Ohhh,” Wade said, sinking back down onto Peter’s lap. “In that case, I’ll join you.”

 

They didn’t actually end up making it to the shower, they end up with Peter stripped and about to step into the bath until he turned to see Wade lifting his dress up and about to take it off. His dress hiked up around his waist revealed the stocking Peter had freed, slipping down around his knee, other one a contrast as it was still stretched over his thigh, kept aloft by the suspender that trailed up to a black rose patterned garter belt. Peter swallowed. Red lace underwear stood out stark against the pale patterns of Wade’s skin.

“You underwear matches your dress,” Peter said roughly. He reached out and tugged Wade’s dress back down over his hips, tucking himself in against his body. His dick pressed against light, starchy tulle and he wondered if he was streaking precome over the fabric.

“Thank you for noticing, “ Wade said, wrapping his hand around Peter’s dick without premise. Peter dropped to his knees before getting back up and scrubbing at his dirty legs with disgust.

“This is why you need to fucking vacuum on occasion, ok,” he said, grabbing the nearest towel and rubbing the dirt on his knees roughly.

“This is disgusting,” he said.

“It’s just the floor! Fuck, you already pitched a fit and made me clean everything else, let me have my dirt!”

“I’m not going to kneel in filth,” Peter pointed out and Wade reconsidered.

“Lima Charlie,” said Wade, presenting his back to Peter and letting him unzip the dress. Peter fingered the lace underneath the garter belt, but Wade shrugged him off and stepped out of it, tossing the stockings and garter belt to the corner of the bathroom. Peter reached for his shoulder and turned him, pressing his mouth against his. His toes curled automatically before he remembered how filthy the floor was and yanked Wade’s panties down instead. He grazed the rough lace, before balling them up and tossing them by the stockings.

 

Being bent over by a guy who had literally seconds before been wearing stockings, a garter belt ad a dress with matching underwear was humiliating in the best kind of way, Peter thought, fingers scrabbling at wet tiles. He made a stupidly grateful noise when Wade pulled back slowly, grazing over his prostate with gratifying pressure. Wade slid his hands down to cup over the divots in Peter’s hips to tilt them and spread his legs further. His fingernails dug little half-moons into Peter’s skin. Peter moaned and turned his head upwards into the spray of warm water. Wade wrapped his hand around Peter’s cock, stroking up slowly and thumbing the head. He moved quicker, matching the speed of his thrusts and Peter choked down noises, but Wade apparently wasn’t having any of that. He reached down and wrapped rough fingers in Peter’s hair, yanking him up straight. Peter grit his teeth. Wade kept his left hand lodged in Peter’s hair, but moved his right to the inside of Peter’s thigh, lifting his leg so he could fuck deeper. Peter tried to drop his head forward but the grip on his hair meant he couldn’t, so he propped his warm hands against the cool tiles instead and pushed his hips back. The new position meant Wade was supporting most of his weight, but Peter knew he could hold him. Wade let his face fall forward onto Peter’s shoulder, his forehead against his throat.

“‘f I let go of your hair, you gonna keep your head up?” Wade asked, but he twined his fingers in harder. Peter moaned and agreed, tilting his head when Wade let go out his hair to slide down his stomach. The muscles jumped out against his hand, but Wade let his fist wrap tight around the base of Peter’s damp cock and slid his thumb up to catch on the head. Peter choked and slammed his hips back. He almost slipped but Wade’s hand tightened on his thigh and steadied him, keeping him still while his thrusts grew rougher. The shower let rivulets of warm water slide down Peter’s body, and he moaned at the tickle of it. Wade’s thumb slid insistently across the head of his cock and Peter mewled when he rubbed. Wade bit down hard of Peter’s neck and Peter’s hands slipped briefly from the tiles to grasp at Wade’s hips, pushing him harder into him. Wade snarled and Peter shuddered when he pulled out, spilling hot across the backs of his thighs. Wade flipped him round easy, sliding two fingers back inside him with an easy, familiar ownership. His hand returned to Peter’s dick, rubbing insistently on the sensitive skin, dipping the edge of his thumb nail into his slit and curling his fingers repeatedly into his prostate. Peter grunted and dropped his head forward, but Wade pressed his forehead on him, forcing him back up. He kissed him, letting Peter sink his teeth into his lower lip when he came, rocking on the rough curl of Wade’s fingers. Wade’s thumb kept its punishing stroke across his tip, stroking come back over the skin until Peter unwound his thigh from Wade’s waist and smacked at his wrist.


End file.
